


Absence

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [75]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months is nothing in the scheme of things. At least, that's what Justin keeps trying to tell himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absence

_Four months is nothing in the scheme of things._

Justin knows this verse by heart.

This is the promise they made to each other before Brian's dreaded departure.

This is the promise that he's recited to himself over and over and  _over,_ believing it might see him through Brian's prolonged absence.

He drives the point home by reminding himself insistently: _We've experienced longer spells of absence._   _Four months is nothing._

After all, four months is a drop in the ocean. What's four months compared to twenty-three years of togetherness? And besides, they've been apart for far longer than this. They survived those periods of separation. Yeah, four months is nothing. It’s simply not that big of a deal and it’s not really that bad.

Except that it  _is_ that bad. Four months is an atrociously long amount of time. It amounts to one hundred and twenty days. One hundred and twenty days equals 2,880 hours, which then equates to 168,000 minutes. 

And if Justin is sure of anything, it's that he's going to hate almost every last one of them.

*

January provides a painful initiation into their spell of absence.

New York is struggling through a frighteningly cold winter that makes Brian's departure all the more evident. Justin makes it through a week before he starts beating himself up for not going with Brian. He might have had that option, if only they'd planned it better. As it is, he's overloaded with commitments that are keeping him tethered to New York. Meanwhile, Brian is in San Francisco, preoccupied with his own work. 

The two cities have never felt quite so far apart.

The late nights and the early mornings are the worst. Brian is the perfect companion for long wintry nights. They spent almost every night in December burrowed up in bed together, fucking for hours on end, until the chilly weather was long forgotten. And then there were mornings: waking up to Brian's hands wandering, warm feet rubbing against his, lips brushing over the back of his neck - all clear-cut promises that more was on the horizon.

On weekdays, they would rush the process and fuck as quickly as possible. On weekends, there was never any need to rush. They would often spend all morning in bed: snuggling and kissing for hours, letting it build slowly until they were both craving more and ready to give in.

Now it's just him in the bed, alone, and plagued by persistent traces of cold. The fact that he's wearing socks and two of Brian's sweaters whilst bundling under a mountain of blankets doesn't seem to make any difference. Every so often, a shiver ripples through him and it instantly heightens his longing for Brian.

Fuck, he's pathetic. If Brian could see him now - sullenly lonely and possibly frostbitten - he'd probably choose to stay in San Francisco permanently.

Maybe he already has. He sure seems to love it there. Honestly, he's always loved it there - they both have. Justin thinks back to their various trips over the years and feels a pang of concern. His faith in Brian's fidelity to him is iron-clad, but what of Brian's fidelity to New York? He seems to have brushed it aside in favour of San Francisco. 

Justin tries not to think about it at first, but that doesn't work. When his attempts at denial fall flat on their face, he takes a different tack. He tries to envisage himself living in San Francisco and what their life might look like there, instead of in New York.

Justin tries and tries, but he can't quite get there. He's still too in love with New York. He fell in love with this city eighteen years ago and has only become more committed to it with every passing year. Every passing day, even...

It's admittedly a strange sort of place to fall in love with. The city shifts and changes, almost lightning-quick at times, stealing away pockets that were once precious to him. But then there are parts that are more resilient; parts that appear and feel exactly as they did when he first discovered them. Justin adores both sides of the city. The changes thrill him; the constants are of great comfort.

But not everyone views the city with the same affection. He has seen more friends and colleagues come and go than he can keep count of. They disappear, returning to their home towns or relocating elsewhere. Often, they seek out quieter places to call home - places that are more spacious and less frenetic. They always seem to feel the need to passionately defend their choice by making adamant assertions that New York isn't what it used to be, that the time comes when everyone must move on, that it's too tiring or demanding, that it's no place to raise a family...

Justin doesn't understand how they manage it. How can they leave with such ease? How can they abandon this place? How can they possibly want to live anywhere else? 

He's bound to New York. He feels sometimes as though he's sutured himself to it, like it's stitched to his very skin. His mother has wanted him to return to Pittsburgh for years now. Deb, too.  _It's your hometown,_ they say imploringly.  _It is,_ Justin has conceded, _but New York is where I belong._

He's not sure that they understand what he means by that. Thankfully, Brian does. Brian has always understood. Brian knew what New York would mean to Justin before he had even left Pittsburgh. During their wretched spell of long distance back then, Brian would push him to stay: _This is the place for you. You belong here, Sunshine._

He was right, of course, and Justin is still deeply grateful for the persistent support Brian offered him back then. He has fond recollections of the slight edge that was apparent in Brian's tone; he tried to hide it but Justin saw right through it. There were vivid traces of longing, a sense of hunger for the city, threads of want that Justin wished he could pull at and weave together. In the end, he didn't have to. Brian arrived and the city became theirs.

Now that they've lived here together for seventeen years, there is nobody else who understands Justin's love for this city quite as well. It's a love that they've shared and grown together for almost two decades. Fuck, has it really been that long? Some of the people that Justin has seen leave didn't last even half of that. What if Brian is feeling the same weariness that they all attested to?  What if Brian is as in love with San Francisco as he once was with New York?

What if he loves it more?

It makes Justin sick with worry. He wishes that he could steal Brian back and somehow excise his affection for San Francisco: cut away at it, extract it, be rid of it. Only that wouldn't be fair, would it? If Brian wants to be elsewhere, shouldn't he be free to do so?

But what about them? What about New York? What's going to happen to the life they built here?

*

It's not that he's not proud. He's so proud of Brian that it's almost too much. The pride glows and gleams within him, bright and bold, almost white-hot. Justin has been telling anyone and everyone about Kinnetik setting up shop over West. It's an incredible accomplishment that Brian has been working towards for the past three years with excruciating intensity. For it to finally come to be is nothing short of spectacular. Justin couldn't be happier for Brian and he's never been quite so proud.

But, _fuck,_ does he miss him.

Before Brian left, they promised to talk at least once a day. Sometimes it's hours on Skype. Most nights it's less. A lot of the time, they survive on twenty minutes: five minutes of catching up, fifteen minutes of filthy phone sex.

At first, this arrangement seemed to be sufficient. Then after January crawled by at a glacial pace, February arrived and they both got fed up. After two brutal shouting matches and at least thirty furious text messages exchanged in brutally rapid succession, they managed to come to an agreement.

 _I need to be close to you,_ was Justin's admission, sent guiltily after a long line of angrier messages.

 _Then get your ass over here,_ was Brian's instant reply. Then, a few seconds later:  _I fucking love you, you twat. Please book a flight._

And just like that, it's decided _._

_I love you too. See you this weekend._

Come Friday afternoon, Justin packs his bags, leaves Gus in charge of the apartment, and drives to JFK. He's too excited to take proper notice of the rain pounding against the windshield or the sinister clouds clotting across the horizon.

It's not until he's actually at the airport and seeing CANCELLED across almost every board that he awakes to the situation. He snaps out of his mindlessly good mood and takes it all in: the hoards of passengers crowding the airport, none of them going anywhere; the high-pitched whistling of the wind that shrieks through the airport every time the automatic doors slide open; the fact that his clothes are plastered to his skin after running from the car through the rain.

Justin pushes his way through the thick throng of grounded passengers to the nearest exit. He runs back to the car and locks himself in. After tenaciously fighting the urge to scream, he picks up his phone to call Brian.

It's dead. The fucking thing is  _dead._ It's totally waterlogged and it won't turn on and-

Justin presses his rain-slicked face into his hands and screams.

It takes three hours to get home. The traffic is even more chaotic than the weather; it's practically apocalyptic. Eighteen years of living in New York and driving back and forth between it and the airport, and he's never seen it this bad. By the time Justin is back at the apartment, he's practically worn his teeth down to stumps. If he'd had to sit in traffic for even ten minutes longer, his teeth would probably have ceased to exist. They'd be mere dust and fragments scattered across his bloodied gums. His jaw is aching, his head is throbbing, and  _fucking hell,_ Gus is throwing a party.

Justin storms into the apartment to music blasting so loudly that the walls and floors are vibrating. The entire living room reeks of pot and booze -  _their_ pot and booze, no less! - and there are countless twenty-somethings crammed in tighter than the grounded passengers were at JFK. Justin slams the door but nobody takes any notice. He drags his suitcase through the crowd and finds Gus in the kitchen, swaying drunkenly with Ruby. They're singing along to whatever trashy pop song is playing but the lyrics are so slurred that they're almost unintelligible.

Justin can count on one hand the number of times he's actually been angry with Gus. This beats all of those times to a pulp. As Justin makes his way over to Gus and Ruby, he feels glass crunching under foot one moment and his sneakers sticking to the booze-soaked floor the next.

"Gus," he yells, his hoarse voice struggling to compete with the music. "Gus!"

Ruby sees him and yelps in shock, as though they're teenagers being caught red-handed. Gus turns around with wide eyes. He opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing ever comes out. Justin glares at him and snaps, "Give me your phone. Mine's fucked."

Since Gus is too shocked or drunk to do much of anything, Ruby hands hers over. Justin snatches it away and warns, "You two had better clean all of this up."

As he makes his way towards the bedroom, veering through writhing bodies and wreckage (he counts one broken lamp, three shattered glasses, and one framed sketch lying on the floor in a mess of splintered frame and obliterated glass), Justin yells back at Gus and Ruby, "And you're paying me back for the damages!"

They probably don't even hear him. The music is head-splittingly loud. Even worse, when he opens the bedroom door he finds two random guys making out on his bed. Justin slams the door to grab their attention, then warns, "Get the fuck out before I throw you out."

They immediately scamper. As soon as they're gone, he shuts the door and locks it. Justin shoves his suitcase in the walk-in then hurls himself into bed.

Just this morning, it still smelt faintly of Brian. He could wrap himself up in the bedding and be reminded of his absent husband. Now it just smells like sweat and spirits, the stomach-turning calling card of those two drunk fags. Justin drags himself out of bed lethargically and starts stripping the sheets. As he does so, he dials Brian's number and puts him on speaker phone.

"Brian, I-"

"You're not coming," is how Brian greets him.

Justin grimaces. "No, I'm not. Nothing's flying out until the storm clears."

"Why didn't you call sooner? I was worried."

"My phone's fucked. I'm using Ruby's."

"Are you at a club?"

"A makeshift club. Gus invited all of his friends over. I'm going to kill him, by the way."

"I'll miss him," Brian says wistfully. "We had a good twenty-three years, wouldn't you say?"

Justin bursts out laughing. He feels almost giddy when Brian starts laughing as well. He forgets about the loud music and the trashed apartment. Through his bouts of laughter, he says, "I love you."

"Love you, too."

He can picture Brian smiling; it's shining clearly in his voice. Justin lies down on top of the stripped bed and closes his eyes. As he pictures his husband, somewhere very far away, he says softly, "Tell me about your day."

"It was great," Brian says. The smile sounds like it's stretching into a grin. He runs through his day in such great detail that Justin almost feels like he was there for it all. It's inspiring, hearing about the work that Brian's doing over there. It's almost worth the absence. 

"It sounds amazing," Justin says, smiling through the pain.

"It is." Brian pauses, takes a breath, then confides, "It's not home, though."

"It isn't?"

"Not even close."

*

The next morning, everything looks a little brighter. Justin calls Brian first thing and they get each other off twice by hissing delectable dirty talk down the phone for almost an hour straight. Then he gets up, showers, and goes to enjoy breakfast. As Justin munches on toast and sips coffee, Gus and Ruby drag themselves around the apartment, complaining about their hangovers whilst cleaning sluggishly.

"That's what you get," is all Justin says to either one of them. They don't appear all that pleased by his empathy-deficient response, but they seem too embarrassed and guilty to fight him on it.

By mid-afternoon, the apartment is clean and Gus and Ruby have absconded. Justin is alone again. He looks around the empty apartment and feels his longing rekindling. There are reminders of Brian everywhere, but Brian is nowhere to be seen. He's almost three thousand miles away. It seems like such an impossible distance.

But at least it's not home. Justin finds solace in the longing that Brian confessed to last night: the raw, urgent longing for New York. For their home. For him.

There are ten weeks to go. Seventy days. 1,680 hours. 100,800 minutes.

He can handle it. At least, he'd like to think he can.

*

For the rest of February, they do better.

Brian calls him every morning and they talk over breakfast. Every day, without fail, Brian complains about the injustice of their situation: he's at the office at 5am and having to eat at his desk, while Justin gets to enjoy breakfast in bed at 8am. Justin laughs, gloats, and teases Brian mercilessly. Then they talk about everything else: Kinnetik in San Francisco, Kinnetik in Pittsburgh and New York, Justin's latest and greatest creative ventures, and what their plans are for when Brian returns. Justin has an endless slew of ideas that continue to accumulate, so every morning, there's something new to propose. They can't make their minds up, but then again, they don't have to. Justin doesn't care what they do - all that's going to matter is that they'll be reunited.

And then there's their nightly phone calls which are now accompanied by props. Justin frequently arrives home to find a parcel waiting for him, undoubtedly filled with risqué items for him to enjoy. Brian has grown obsessed with several of San Francisco's sex shops and seems to be determined to max out his credit card in his pursuit of luxurious sex toys for the two of them. That's Justin's favourite part: Brian has been buying matching sets of everything, so that every night when they call or Skype each other, they each have the same item to experiment with. It's fucking fantastic - Brian's talent for choosing toys and their shared flair for dirty talk makes for mind-blowing sessions. Finally, Justin feels satisfied. 

But he still misses Brian. It's somewhat muted, now that they're striving to keep in touch, but it can't be erased. 

He misses Brian's lips, misses kissing them, misses their taste and touch. He misses sex so much that he  _aches_ for it, constantly, endlessly, maddeningly. They debated whether they could survive this long without it and eventually arrived at a decision: not fucking for four months was preferable to fucking other people. It's strange how Justin can't even really imagine it anymore. The mere thought of being with another man fills him with discomfort. There are a couple of assistants at the gallery that flirt with him incessantly. Justin manages to rustle up cordial responses, but deep down, he's consumed by one single thought: _You're not my husband._

It's not even the marriage that matters - regardless of what they're calling their relationship, Justin knows that he wouldn't want anyone but Brian. It's been eight years since he's touched anyone else. What would even be the point? It's not just fucking that he's craving - it's intimacy. Other men can't offer him that.

 _We might regret our arrangement in a few months time,_ he mused whilst helping Brian pack, way back in December.

 _I doubt it,_ was Brian's candid, confident response.

Brian was right. Justin doesn't regret their arrangement one bit. The lack of sex may be strenuous, but the only person who can soothe that strain is Brian.

After all, it's not just the physical things that Justin is craving - it's  _everything._ He misses all of their little habits and traditions. He misses cooking for Brian; he misses visiting Brian at work; he misses their nights out and their nights in; he misses every last little thing about them.

Even though they're doing better at bridging the gap, it's still not enough. There is still an enduring sense of loneliness that plagues Justin, day and night, all through February and well into March.

* 

"Hey, Jus!"

Justin eyes his overly-chirpy son with unguarded skepticism. They're meeting for lunch at Gus' request and Gus is now bounding into the cafe in a suspiciously cheerful mood. Something's up. Something's always up where Gus is concerned.

"Hey," he says, accepting a hug from the troublesome kid. Only Gus isn't a kid anymore - he'll be twenty-four in a few months. Fuck. Justin feels utterly ancient.

"I have your money," Gus announces with pride. "Ruby and I saved up."

He hands over a wad of cash without a moment's hesitation. Justin eyes the compensation and debates whether to pocket it or not. On the one hand, Gus and Ruby could probably use this money. On the other, they could probably stand to learn a thing or two about responsibility. 

"Keep it," Gus urges, apparently having sensed Justin's doubt. "We shouldn't have let the party get so out of hand. I'm sorry."

"You're a good kid." Justin smiles at him and splits the stack of bills in two. He hands half back and pockets the rest, then pats Gus' shoulder. "This is a one-time-only discount, okay?"

Gus beams and hugs him again. "You're the best."

"Quit sucking up," Justin teases. "Let's order."

"Um, about that." Gus waves away the waiter that had been approaching and turns in towards Justin secretively. "I don't actually have time for lunch, but I do have a favour to ask."

Justin can't help but laugh. "Always with the ulterior motives."

Gus grins mischievously. "Yeah, well, you and dad were a highly formative influence. So... I have a meeting with a publisher in fifteen minutes. They're interested in a collection of my short stories. They have been for a while, actually, I just didn't want to jinx it by telling you... only now I'm really nervous about it and I was wondering if you'd come with me."

"Of course I will," Justin blurts out. He suddenly takes in the sight of his son, who's looking uncharacteristically polished. There's no torn skinny jeans or scrappy t-shirt; Gus is dressed neatly in expensive-looking slacks and a button-up. They actually look tailored.

Like the sneaky little mind-reader he is, Gus supplies, "Dad arranged all of this."

"Of course he did," Justin laughs. He takes another look at Gus, all dressed up, looking impossibly grown up and crazy impressive. He feels a knot forming in his throat but manages to fight it. "Okay, let's go. You don't want to be late."

They walk across the street arm-in-arm, with Gus clinging to him nervously. Justin keeps him close and murmurs words of encouragement. Apparently this works wonders - as soon as they enter the lobby, Gus pulls away and announces with bravado, "I'm okay. You can stay here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I should really go it alone." Gus smiles and dives in for another hug. "Thanks for being here."

"Any time," Justin vows. "I love you."

"I love you too," Gus whispers, "Dad."

With a bemused laugh, Justin says, "You never call me 'dad'."

Gus pulls away from their hug with a huge grin on his face. "Turn around."

Justin's heart leaps up into his mouth. He turns around and sees Brian approaching; it's a good thing that his heart is in his mouth, or otherwise he might scream.

"Surprise," Gus says softly, and then he slips away. Justin grins and rushes at Brian, who opens his arms and catches Justin neatly as he leaps into them.

Justin grabs onto Brian with every last ounce of strength that he can muster. Brian sighs and grumbles, "I'm not going to be of any use to you if I asphyxiate."

"Shut up and take it," Justin laughs, squeezing him as tight as tight can be. "I'm guessing Gus lured you here?"

"He said that you had a meeting with the curator and that he needed me to be here in lieu." Brian chuckles. "Sneaky little fucker."

Justin loosens his grip slightly and pulls back so that he can really take in the sight of Brian. Suddenly, he's reminded of being seventeen and feeling impossibly swept away by this magnificent person. The onslaught of nostalgia makes him laugh, but only for a moment, because then Brian's kissing him and that's all that matters.

*

"I have to fly back tonight," Brian warns him with regret lacing every word.

"This morning I thought we were still five weeks out," Justin says, drawing Brian closer. "Don't worry about going back tonight. This is so worth it."

Since Gus' meeting promises to last upwards of an hour, they've fled to a nearby hotel for a proper reunion - albeit a short one. The briefness of it doesn't matter; the fact that it's happening at all is simply fantastic. As Brian edges closer, Justin pulls him in for a kiss. Against his lips, he whispers, "We need to plan this better next time."

"Next time?" Brian arches a brow. "Are you planning on us repeating this hellish experience?"

"Fuck no," Justin says as he straddles him. "But, hey, it's probably going to happen. You're split three ways across the country now. Maybe in a few years time it'll be four, or five. I know you still have a total hard-on for Chicago."

"All in good time," Brian murmurs, running his hands up and down Justin's thighs. 

"Yeah. And when the time comes, we're going to plan it better." Justin grabs Brian's cock and strokes it gently. "I'll visit more often-"

"You'll come with me," Brian says abruptly. Then he frowns and averts his gaze. "If you want to, that is."

Justin smiles at him. "Hell yes, I want to. We'll figure it out."

Then, as he sinks down onto Brian's cock, he gasps out, "Four months is way too long. Never again."

"Never again," Brian echoes. Then he grabs Justin's hips tight and growls, "Now, Taylor, focus. We don't have much longer."

"I'm focused," Justin promises, the words edged with laughter. "Onto round three, Mr. Kinney."

*

When they eventually emerge from their hotel room and make their way downstairs, Gus is waiting for them in the lobby with a knowing look. He wrinkles his nose at their blatantly disheveled selves and sneers, "You two are disgusting, you know that? You're also late."

Justin grabs Brian's hand and glances at his watch. "Shit, sorry, Gussy."

Gus scoffs and refutes, "No, you're not."

Brian snorts. Justin grins up at him and admits, "No, I'm not."

Then he grabs Brian's rumpled shirt and drags him in for another kiss. It's the kind of kiss that's not even remotely appropriate given that Gus is present, but goddamnit, it's been too long and in a few hours Brian will have to leave again. Justin needs to make the most of this time.

"Disgusting," Gus repeats, shaking his head at them as they come up for air. "I don't know how I made it through my childhood to become a published author with you two sickos for fathers."

"Published author?" Justin can feel his eyes bugging out of his head.  _"Published author?!"_

Gus blushes and grins. "We just signed a contract. They want my book released by the end of the year."

"Shut the fuck up," Brian exclaims. Then he lunges at Gus and sweeps him up in a bear hug. "That's fucking amazing!"

"Dad," Gus protests unconvincingly, "Stop embarrassing me! Justin, will you please  _do_ something? I'm too old for this!"

Justin shrugs and merely watches in amusement as Brian rocks Gus back and forth adoringly. "Sorry, Gussy."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not." 

When Brian finally releases Gus, he announces, "This calls for drinks."

"Yeah," Gus agrees, nodding, "But we can do that later. Like, when you're back home properly, or whatever."

He scrunches up his face and gags dramatically. "I'm going to let you guys go and be disgusting to your hearts' content. Okay?"

Justin peers at him. "Are you sure? We don't mind-"

"I'm sure. You guys go... reunite." Gus shudders and sighs. "I'm gonna go buy some brain bleach. Dad, see you next month, okay? Jus, see you tomorrow."

He hugs them once more and then rushes off, undoubtedly keen to begin the repression process as soon as possible. Justin turns back to Brian and wraps his arms around his neck. "How long have we got?"

"Three hours." Brian pauses, then adds, "And possibly fifteen minutes. The driver I've booked doesn't play by the rules, so that might buy us some time. I also don't think he'll mind what goes on in the backseat."

"I don't care if he minds," Justin says, grinning brazenly. "I intend to make good use of that time whether he likes it or not."

Brian grins back. "I figured."

Justin kisses him and suggests eagerly, "Let's go back upstairs."

Brian shakes his head and pushes Justin towards the revolving doors. "Fuck upstairs. Let's go home."

The suggestion renders Justin giddy. Of all the things he's missed, having Brian at home ranks pretty high. He beams at Brian and agrees, "Let's."

They hail a cab and ask the driver to get them to Soho as quickly as possible. As the cab rushes downtown, Justin leans into Brian's side and grabs hold of his hand. He watches as Brian gazes out of the window. There's a brightness in his eyes as he takes in the city that's passing by in a blur, like he's thrilled to be back, if only for a little while. Justin smiles at the sight of it and rests his head on Brian's shoulder. "We've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." Brian nudges him lightly. "Remember when I first moved here?"

"I remember it well."

"Remember how we spent a week in bed?"

"Making up for lost time? Yeah."

Brian smirks. "Yeah. You'd best ready yourself, Sunshine - a week isn't going to cut it this time."

"I'll clear my schedule," Justin says with a chuckle. He kisses Brian's neck lightly and then edges closer, because even being pressed right up against Brian isn't nearly close enough. He rests his head in the curve of Brian's neck and watches the city flicker by outside their speeding cab. He catches glimpses of places most familiar: the cafe that they have breakfast at sometimes, their favourite local bar, the gallery that he had a show at two years ago,  the streets surrounding their building that are as known to him as the lines curved across his palms. Like it always has, the sight and sense of the city fills him up. It makes him feel whole with belonging.

Justin glances up at Brian. He's still gazing out the window but the brightness has faded from his eyes. In its place is something soft and sweet; fond and full of affection. The knot returns to Justin's throat and tears prick at his eyes. He swallows the knot down, blinks the tears back, and allows a smile to form on his face. As soon as he lets it in, it takes over, radiating happiness through him. He hasn't smiled like this in almost three months.

They have three hours left until Brian has to depart again. It's not long, but it's something. Then they'll have five weeks to go.

 _Not long now,_ Justin thinks, still smiling as Brian kisses him sweetly,  _Not long at all._

**The End**


End file.
